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The story unfolds in the 1950s--a time of extreme naivete and intolerance. Abandoned by his parents and five brothers and sisters, Jeff learns to fight the hopelessness of just passing through a world of loneliness, deep feelings of rejection, and a constant longing to be reunited with a family that seems to have forgotten him.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Beggs, Beth. Just passing through / by Beth Beggs p. cm. ISBN 1-55622-376-5 1. OrphansUnited StatesFiction. 2. BoysUnited States -Fiction 1. Title. PS3552.E3719J87 1994 813'.54dc20 94-14512 CIP
Copyright 1995, Wordware Publishing, Inc.
All Rights Reserved
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Plano, Texas 75074
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from Wordware Publishing, Inc.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 1-55622-376-5
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
9407
All inquiries for volume purchases of this book should be addressed to Wordware Publishing, Inc., at the above address. Telephone inquiries may be made by calling: (214) 423-0090
Page iii
To my husband Joe, whose childhood memories served as inspiration for many of the fictional events in this story and whose love and faith gave me the confidence to write, and to our children, Catherine and Susan, who constantly remind me of the importance of love and laughter.
Page 1
Chapter One
The blank registration form glared up at me from the desk, demanding answers. I leaned over the form trying to cover the whiteness with my arms, to pretend that I was writing, that I knew the answers. I had nothing to write.
The town girl across the aisle scribbled madly on her form, delighted at the numbers she knew, the names she could spell, the places she could remember. I had none. I moved my pencil as if filling in the form.
"You need to sharpen your pencil." The squeaky voice behind me shocked me out of my world of misery. Turning, I came face to face with black-rimmed glasses, freckles, and red hair that I would learn to hate. Her lip curled slightly, almost touching the beak nose on which balanced the thick, black glasses. When she opened her mouth to repeat her comment, I noticed she had silver wires wrapped around each tooth. I couldn't keep my eyes off her teeth. In all my life I'd never seen anyone with metal teeth.
"What are you staring at?" the squeaky voice asked.
"What's on your teeth?"
"Braces. Haven't you ever seen braces?" She sneered again, "No, you probably haven't, have you? Don't any of you have braces?"
"Sure," I lied. "I have some. I just didn't feel like wearing them today. Lots of us have braces. One girl has them on her leg." So there, I'd showed her. No town girl was going to make me feel dumb the first day of school.
"You'd better sharpen that pencil. If you are going to fill out that registration form before the teacher gets mad, you'd better get to work. My sister said she's real mean."
Page 2
"What I write on the form is none of your business, so just keep that beak out of mine." That shut her up. I turned back to my enrollment form. My unsharpened pencil lay in the groove of the slanted desk. How stupid. How could I pretend to be filling in the form when all I had was the pencil they'd given me when I got on the bus that morning? How did they expect us to look like real kids when they just gave us unsharpened pencils?
I twisted in my chair, trying to find the sharpener. Beak-nose pointed toward the classroom door. There screwed to the frame was the sharpener. I turned my form over and rose to go to the sharpener. Swack!
The loud noise brought the class to a halt. Whirling around, I saw the teacher standing behind her desk, ruler raised. Mrs. Northcott had made the noise. The ruler was poised for a second attack. I sat down in my chair and covered the end of my pencil with my hand.
"Young man," she said pointing the weapon at me, "you will not rise from your chair without permission."
"I need to sharpen my pencil."
"You will come prepared to this class. Now, finish filling in the registration form." There were no ifs, ands, or buts. We were to finish filling in the form. My face burned. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. I considered chewing a point on the pencil.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my back. I slapped at it and found a freshly sharpened pencil. I couldn't believe it. Beak-nose pointed across the aisle. Paul Staley smiled and nodded. I wasn't sure when Paul had managed to sharpen his pencil. He got his at the same time I got mine. Now, he had an extra and both of them were sharpened.
It didn't surprise me. Paul Staley had ways. He was the only boy at the orphanage with a bicycle. The only boy who claimed to know how to drive. And he was the only one who'd ever been to Washington, D.C. It didn't surprise me too much that Paul Staley had managed to get two pencils that morning and sharpen both of them.
The registration form screamed again. I wrote my name, birth date, and address at the top of the form. Swack! I looked up, covering the rest of the form with both arms.
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94-14512